


An Eight to Five, With Benefits

by destronomics



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destronomics/pseuds/destronomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All dogs go to Heaven, Wesley goes to Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eight to Five, With Benefits

"Hello Wesley," Her voice is honey sweet and Wesley opens his eyes and sees the sky of heaven.

Well, really no. He sees a ceiling, with stucco and it's peach and is this really....

"No, no it really isn't," The form of a woman is in his right peripheral vision. She's sitting on a -desk- and Wesley sits up and takes notice.

This is not-

"-Heaven, again with the no." And it's Lilah that's bent over him, offering a perfectly manicured hand with fingers of arterial red, "No, no, none of that can be yours. At least," And there's a heft in her voice as she pulls him up, "this time around."

Wesley's stomach hurts. It really, truly hurts but Lilah's hand is still on his, squeezing and she's so close and his other hand is over his clean, uncut, un-bleeding stomach and where's Fred and this...

...is not where he's supposed to be.

"This is exactly where you're supposed to be," And Lilah smiles and lets go of his hand. She spreads her Chanel-perfumed arms wide, "Welcome back to the office Wesley, you've got some work to do."

Wesley stumbles a bit because to stand is to be alive and he's not even supposed to be that. Father said that he shouldn't have survived past the pram and Mum said he was always a weak boy and Angel never respected him anyway and-

"Is this," Wesley chokes on his words because he must have been in the ground for some while -his jaw works slowly, like there's dirt still stuck between the bones and joints, "Hell?"

Lilah smiles that small, knowing smile of hers, and steps back away from him, back to her perch on the desk in a room that looked surprisingly like his old office back home. There were even papers on his desk, and he could even see his handwriting scrawled on some post-it notes on his computer monitor.

"Well, yes. This is Hell. Or one of its dimensions if you want to be anal about it."

"W-why," He stumbles over his own tongue and he feels weak and stupid, "-why am I...why?" One eye closes before the other and he performs the facsimile of a blink because he can -he can move and laugh and dance and drink and-

He's not supposed to be here.

"Really, Wesley, did you think you were going anywhere else? With your track record?" She laughs and it's just as engaging as it was before he cut off her head and severed her vocal chords, "I mean, you've maimed. Killed, I've got to say it _was_ kind of hot."

"What, what about-"

"Fred?" Lilah picks an old paper weight that Fred bought him one night when they were both alive and well and Santa Monica Pier walks were a thing of the present and passes it back and forth in her hands, "Oh, she was good and pure of course, she only kinda-sorta killed one person and he kinda-sorta deserved it. And sacrifices always get a cushy dimension of light, beauty and all consuming satisfaction. But you, you-"

And Wesley closes his mouth and rubs a hand across his stomach and feels the thin, whole skin under his fingers and he lets out a sigh that burns with life up his throat.

"-you were fantastic." Her skirt rides up she unhooks her ankles and pushes off of his desk, "Anyway, wish I could could stay and gossip, but I've got a meeting with some L'Thral demons over a Sacrificial Lamb clause, and you've got a lot of paperwork to catch up with so-" She pats down the tie that he doesn't remember putting on the morning before he died and she kisses him on the cheek. He can feel her smile against the side of his mouth and she pulls away smelling like soil and dirt and flowers.

"Yes." Wesley forms the word carefully, as if the vowels are finding footing in his mouth, "Work."

"It's a bitch," Lilah says at the door before shutting it with a wink, "But someone's gotta do it."


End file.
